Cold waves, no, frigid freezing waves soaked Vincent Guticelli’s pant legs. The pieces and parts of the splintered rowboat beat themselves against the 
breakwall turning into splinters.
“Cap?!?” he called out into the snowy, dark night. “Cap, are you okay?!” The liability of having lost not only the rowboat, but perhaps even the man rowing it gnawed at him despite his dire and desperate situation. Then he realized…it was cold. Very, very cold. Too cold for the thunder and lightning that continued out over the lighthouse.
Suddenly and surprisingly his cell phone came to life with an incoming call. Guticelli answered as he always did: “Vincent!” The voice on thee other end stammered and then faded. “V…v…vince…?”
“Duck?” he replied. “Is that you Duck?”
“Vince….good…eh…good…um…goodbye.”